


Six Nights in 1940

by butimnotdeadyet



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butimnotdeadyet/pseuds/butimnotdeadyet
Summary: Some would say that, despite their travels, Sara and Leonard are people of their time. And neither would disagree.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own them, but if I did they would probably have permanently taken of the Waverider by now.

The first night was awkward; both of them stumbled around each far more than either liked, but they couldn’t help it. They, in their own time, were frequently out of place and even as adaptive as they both area by nature, there is only an extent of familiarity of time and location and person that one can fabricate given short notice. They both wished, secretly- Sara in a rushed whisper as she unloaded her collapsed bo staff and knives into the left-hand bedside table and Leonard in the same breath that he welcomed her to their temporary home- that the mission would be over quickly.

The second night was full of harsh, rolling laughter as they were told by Rip and Gideon that it would be best that they attempted to blend into society instead of choosing to remain out of sight. Neither wanted to play the game. They both preferred less slighted odds.

But the third night the game commenced. The neighbors to the east, occupants of the medium sized blue house with the lawn that was cut on what must be a daily basis, had invited them over and they, to appease their teammates and hopefully move the mission along, agreed. The Ingles’ were a family of five, with two perfect daughters, a charming boy, a seriously over-cologned father, and a mother who smiled a little too wide. Leonard glared every time he saw then outside, just sitting (“It’s unnatural for anyone under the age of twelve to be that still, Sara. I think the suburbia has brainwashed them.”) and Sara thought they could use a little roughhousing (“Maybe I could introduce them to soccer, it’s only a few decades early and the tall one could probably cream that twerp down the street if I taught her to play dirty.”). Dinner went about as well as you’d expect.

The next night, he was late and she was ready. But, at ten ‘til midnight when he strode through the front door, the dramatized speech about kept promises and faithfulness that Sara had planned to burn him with (really, there were to be broken plates and big dumpy tears if she could keep from laughing long enough, all while looking as miserable as possible in one of those awful, puke colored housecoats) was ripe for the making, she had to stop herself. Because he, fake husband and real lover, looked prepared to raze the city to the ground. The old-boys club, a half dozen men employed by the company Len was day-lighting in, that had invited him out had taken it upon themselves to great with with handshakes, broad grins, and bloodied knuckles. “Those bigoted, self righteous assholes”, he had seethed through teeth that Sara accurately guessed had remained clenched for the entire evening, “had ‘started the festivities early’ by cornering ‘some pansy-boy’ outside the movie theater across the street from the club.” He had been late because breaking wrists, jaws, and fingers of the such ‘upstanding’ men had gotten him arrested and taken into booking for assault. It was only a quick drop in of Hunter and his delightful flash-knockout device that kept them from having to uproot their operation that very night.

On the fifth night, some of Sara’s work was coming to a head. A little asking around had gotten her invited to a women-only house party held by their targets. But, in an almost unknowable parallel to the night before, Leonard had stopped in his tracks with a quip about having to fend for himself for dinner half voiced. Where he had been appalled and furious, she was murderous- hands balled into fits at her sides to the point that her fingers turned white and eyes that pinched as if she was trying to forget everything that she had witnessed so as to prevent a pre-war massacre to the American home-life. The device they were after had been found, an out-of-time sexton on display in the mister’s office, but any further moment, retrieval, or debrief was postponed. Sara spent the night rehashing every invasive question and ‘thoughtful’ insight (‘Late in life marriage? It’s fine, we all have fixer-uppers but I guess you finally caught yourself a good one.” “Oh, I bet it was a broken engagement- is he a drip?” “Even if you don’t want it-or him, children make it all better.” “What do you mean you hope he seasoned the chicken? You didn’t make it before you left?” “Oh, dear, those books are too rough, completely indecent. Did your Leonard say you could read them?”) with him as he played sparring dummy in the living room- with the curtains pulled tight, of course, because anything more involved than running a vacuum over the carpet is too strenuous for a woman.

The last night they ran back to the time-ship, sexton tucked under Sara’s arm, and didn’t for one second grief the times they left behind. Instead, they collapsed side-by-side on Leonard’s bed before drinking too much booze and playing strip poker with the door wide open. Screw the 40’s fucked up societal norms and their soon to be even more fucked up society. And screw ‘decent’.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not the fic I sat down to write. I don't even know where this came from. It was supposed to be a lightly fluffed AU or a new installment of Nosy Team Arrow. God dammit.
> 
> Sorry. At least I didn't like kill them or something stupid like that.
> 
> -Gin


End file.
